


After the Fortune Cookies

by notjustmom



Series: Doodahs and Whatnots [4]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: John's POV, M/M, Missing Scene, Post ASiP, after dim sum
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-10
Updated: 2016-09-10
Packaged: 2018-08-14 05:34:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8000422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notjustmom/pseuds/notjustmom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>scrub456 and I were 'chatting' about this n that, mostly about the bits after...the scenes we want to see, but have to imagine. So...this scene happens after the credits run at the end of ASiP.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

He was right about the dim sum, it was amazing; a bit off on the fortune cookie, though I guess it depends on your interpretation.

"You will meet a handsome stranger..."

I snorted into my lager. He narrowed his eyes at me "...who will change your life..."

"Let me see that -" I grabbed it from his fingers, looked at the tiny paper and glared at him. "It's in Chinese -"

"Of course it is." He stole the last pork bun from my plate and I wondered when he had last eaten. I watched him suck a bit of sauce from his thumb and I had to stop myself from reaching over and kissing him. He sensed something had changed, the air shifted, from almost a casual, joking atmosphere to something heavy, and suddenly, I felt as if I had just run a marathon. I hadn't felt this way since Afghanistan, after the IED that should've wiped us all out was a dud. These feelings were simply from an adrenaline rush. Not real. He didn't want - I couldn't, how would he feel knowing I couldn't sleep more than two hours without waking up screaming.

"Let's go home." He pushed back from the table, yelled something in Mandarin, at least I think it was Mandarin; a little old man came out and bowed. Sherlock bowed in return, then pointed at me, and whispered something to him; the old man bowed deeply, then embraced me and said, "Thank you, my son, always, you are welcome."

We left the restaurant and made our way to the flat on foot as we had had our fill of cabs tonight, when I realised I hadn't moved a single box over. I said as much, and he waved his hand. "I think you will find that your belongings are on their way. I believe my brother has put his nose where it doesn't belong again. Good thing you have your firearm with you -" He looked me over for a moment then nodded. "He should be able to get you a permit for that," nodding at my pocket. "I have the feeling tonight will not be the last night that you will find it useful. That is....if you want to, uhm, stay?" He glanced away nervously, and I knew, I knew as I knew every bone in the human body, that I would never willingly leave his side again.

"I, hmm...that is, see how you feel tomorrow..." I sighed as I opened the door at 221B. He looked at me as I imagined he would peer at an interesting specimen on a slide, but he made no comment as he waited for me to climb the steps, perhaps curious if my limp was indeed gone, or if the cure was just as symptomatic. "D'ya mind if I watch a bit of telly?" I asked as I flopped onto the couch and searched for the remote.

"I have no idea if that even works to tell you the truth, never saw the need to turn it on - I have some research to do, I'll be in my room if you need anything; I wouldn't look in the fridge, not sure exactly what is in there, other than the doorbell. Kept ringing. Uhm. Good night, then."

"Night." I mumbled, absentmindedly flipping through channels before finally landing on an episode of 'Are You Being Served?' It should have been mild enough to keep the visions away. It wasn't sand and Murray tonight; it was a dark London alley, and I didn't get there soon enough. I was holding him in my arms, weeping over a man I barely knew.

"Dr. Watson? Captain? John?" A calm voice reached through the haze. "I'm here. It's safe to open your eyes. Good. I'm right in front of you, can you see me?" I nod. I see his eyes, they are relieved, not afraid or angry. "I'm going to touch you now, if it's okay?" I nod again and he places his hand over mine. "Breathe with me?" He took a slow, deep breath and I followed, trying unsuccessfully to swallow a sob. "Hey. Do you know you are safe? Well, as safe as one can be, with a sociopathic, recovering drug addict, fresh out of rehab. This is your home, for as long as you can stand it and me. I rarely sleep, so you won't wake me up with your nightmares...budge up." I did and he sat down on the couch and rolled his eyes at the screen as he gathered me into his arms. My head somehow rested comfortably on his lap. "I used to watch this show, never understood the obsession with shopping, though I loved finding out what colour Mrs. Slocum's hair would be each week..." He kept talking until I fell asleep, his long fingers tracing the landmarks of my skull, likely finding all of the healed cracks and imperfections. I woke up to soft violin music and the scent of tea; he was swaying in a soft blue robe and neatly pressed trousers; after a moment, he stopped and scribbled something. He caught my eye and nodded. "I hope the tea is to your liking. I, uhm, ran out and got milk, realised again why I leave the shopping to Mrs. Hudson....too many people, and too many milk choices...hmm, uh, thank you."

"For?" I take a sip of the tea, exactly how I take it and I lean against the back of the couch with a contented sigh, then look down at my watch and note it is three in the afternoon. I can't remember the last time I slept this long without being drugged within an inch of my life...

"Showing up - to see the flat. I wasn't sure you would. I tend to put most people off, but I thought I saw something at the lab. Something I understood, something familiar."

I nod, knowing exactly what he means; he offers me a small grin, then mutters, "Lestrade wants us in his office in an hour; no worries, he's just trying to tie up all the loose ends, he's an honest cop, one of the best, but there's no evidence connecting you to it. Go get cleaned up and we'll get a curry after?"

I stretch and move to stand, he hesitates before turning away to resume playing, just in case? But he raises the instrument and lays the bow on the strings, closes his eyes and begins, giving me a bit of privacy. He has placed my cane within reach, and that simple act of understanding nearly undoes me. But there is no twinge this morning, either in my hand or my leg and despite the creaking, I manage to get out of the couch unassisted and head to the loo. I find a clean towel, one of mine, on the rack next to a damp deep purple one and I finally know that I am not alone anymore.


	2. Sherlock's POV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock's take on the evening...

Damn Mycroft...why does he always show up? Doesn't matter, John is still here, sitting across the table from me.

He has beautiful eyes. Damn. Why does it matter? It can't possibly matter in the least if he has beautiful eyes. He isn't - god, he just smiled at me.

"You will meet a handsome stranger..." He snorts. He actually snorted at me. "...who will change your life..." That's what it says...more or less, that's what they all say, but he doesn't know that. Why am I so hungry? I'm never hungry, except after a case, and, and - he killed someone, to save me. He's watching my lips. I wish. I wish he would kiss me. No. I've already told him no. Time to go. Something's wrong, he feels claustrophobic, he just clenched his fist, didn't even know he did it - remembering something from Afghanistan.

"Let's go home." The owner is a friend, never allows me to pay, I helped him refinish the furniture and paint the walls when he reopened after a fire. My first good deed after rehab. John may be my second, but it is he who is being kind. He nods at the owner, obviously moved by his words.

"Mind if we walk? I don't think I'm quite ready for another cab ride..." His eyes twinkle, and though he must be exhausted, he seems happy enough to walk by my side, though neither of us have anything to say, the silence is actually welcome, not the least uncomfortable. Finally, we arrive at the flat and he mutters something about his belongings. Knowing my brother as I do, and understanding his appearance at the crime scene as a grudging acceptance of my new flatmate, I let him know that I believe his belongings have already arrived and hope this invasion of privacy doesn't bother him, he's already been made aware of my brother's insensitivity - "and he should be able to get you a permit for that." I indicate the recently used firearm that rests in his pocket. "I have the feeling tonight will not be the last night that you will find it useful. That is....if you want to, uhm, stay?" I have never in my life desired the company of another human being, until tonight, and I realise I'm holding my breath, and I have to turn away from him before he understands how much I want his answer to be yes.

He hesitates, takes a deep breath and sighs, "I, hmm...that is, see how you feel tomorrow..." I turn back and look, really look at his face. He's more than exhausted, he sleeps little, wakes up so often from nightmares that he has become afraid to close his eyes at night. I let him push open the door and watch him take his time to navigate the stairs, I note the lack of the limp that was so obvious earlier just a few hours ago. I realise that it has little to do with me, and yet, I take a bit of pride in watching him climb easier.

"D'ya mind if I watch a bit of telly?" He all but falls onto the couch, and somehow locates the remote between the cushions. I have to admit to him that I don't even know if the thing actually works, and find myself needing space, so I mumble something about research and disappear into my room, and close the door. Just a few minutes later, I hear him scream, he's screaming my name and sobbing. 

I remember when Mycroft had horrible nightmares before he went away to school, and I knew I had to speak calmly and not touch him right away, let him know he was safe. I walked quietly into the front room, he was trembling, tears running down his face and hugging himself. "Dr. Watson? Captain? John?" He stops trembling and his breathing begins to even out. I edge closer to the couch so he can see me. "I'm here. It's safe to open your eyes." He blinks at me slowly, and begins to focus on my face. I bend down so I can look him in the eye. "Good. I'm right in front of you, can you see me?" He nods at me. "I'm going to touch you now, if it's okay?" He nods once more, and I take a breath and lay my hand over his. "Breathe with me." I find it almost difficult to breathe myself, but his eyes find mine and we manage a breath together, though he chokes up a bit and I try to hold myself together by babbling. "Hey. Do you know you are safe? Well, as safe as one can be, with a sociopathic, recovering drug addict, fresh out of rehab. This is your home, for as long as you can stand it and me. I rarely sleep, so you won't wake me up with your nightmares...budge up." He blinks at me, but does as I ask, and I take a chance, pulling him into my arms and he settles his head into my lap. I glance at the telly and remember, one night a week we would gather together and watch the most ridiculous shows, we would actually laugh, as a family..."I used to watch this show, never understood the obsession with shopping, though I loved finding out what colour Mrs. Slocum's hair would be each week..." I let my fingers rest in his hair and I find myself tracing the irregularities in his skull, it's the closest I've ever come to a living person, I feel him relax under my hand and finally fall asleep, and it's the closest I've ever come to being at peace. I continue holding him for hours, I don't want to wake him, that's what I tell myself, in reality, I know this will be the first and last time this will happen, some day soon he will get to know me, know I'm not normally this way, and he will leave. Eventually I find myself tiring, wanting my bed for once, I somehow get off the couch without waking him and fall asleep as soon as my head hits my pillow. 

It is past midday when my eyes open, the winter sunlight strong for once and I blink against it, and remember John on the couch. I get up and head to the kitchen, start the kettle, then I take a peek in the fridge. I cringe, turn off the kettle, return to my room and throw some clothes on, then slip on my shoes and scarf and coat and hope he doesn't wake up while I'm gone. I manage to get through the Tesco in ten minutes somehow, and immediately find a cab. I fly up the stairs and find him still dead to the world. I clean out the fridge, bin everything in the freezer, then put the milk, jam and eggs away. Suddenly, there is a piece of music in my head, just a fragment of something. I haven't heard any music for years, I thought it was gone. It has returned, it's coming to me in bits and single notes. I make tea, then dig until I find my composition paper, trying to keep the music in my head until I get it onto paper. Then I take a deep breath as I dust off my violin case, I had warned John I play at all hours, in actuality, it's been months since I last touched it. Over a year since I made music with it. John somehow makes me believe I can do it again. I tune it carefully, then touch the bow to the strings...I hear a rustle and turn, John has rolled over, he's still asleep. I let out the breath I was holding and begin to play. I play roughly and awkwardly at first, and then instinct takes over, the music begins to hold together and I close my eyes and I'm playing for John. For him. In thanks.


End file.
